Authors: Anne Stuart
So Valerian had his unexpected happy ending. But there was no happy ending for him as long as Phelan was in torment.
Phelan had almost drowned himself, diving for Juliette’s body. It had finally taken all Valerian’s strength to haul him from the sea. “She’s dead, man!” he’d shouted. “She’s gone.”
And Phelan had made one last attempt at flattening him. Only to collapse on the sand, staring up at the bright sunshine, an expression so bleak and deathly on his face that it had broken Valerian’s heart.
Phelan had barely said a word since then. They’d made their way back to the house at Sutter’s Head, slowly, in silence, and then Phelan had disappeared into his rooms. An hour later he had reappeared, dressed for travel.
“I’m leaving,” he said in his cool, emotionless voice. “Romney Hall is yours to do with as you please. I’ve left a statement saying as much—you shouldn’t have any trouble. You can tell everyone that Lady Margery died of the ague while she was visiting us. No one will doubt you, and no one will care. You are a great deal better liked than she ever was.”
“You can’t go, Phelan,” Valerian said desperately. “You can’t just—”
“I can. I wish you joy of your little bluestocking,” he said. “Make me lots of nieces and nephews.”
“Cousins,” Valerian said.
For a moment a spark of life glimmered in Phelan’s bleak
gray eyes. “So they would be,” he murmured in belated surprise. “I hadn’t realized that.”
“You’re still the heir, you know,” Valerian said. “Since Lord Harry had no legal child, you’re still the next to inherit.”
“No,” Phelan said. “I never existed. I died in childbirth with my mother, Catherine, and I expect Lady Margery was never pregnant at all. That leaves you, brat. With my blessing.”
“But, Phelan …” Val protested.
“I hate the place. I hate this whole bloody country,” he said savagely. “I wish you joy of it. I’m leaving, and I don’t expect to be back for a very long time.”
“You can’t spend the rest of your life alone.”
“I don’t believe I will. Hannigan will catch up with me sooner or later. After a lifetime of watching over me, he’s not about to let go now.”
“Phelan, he’s a murderer. He killed Lord Harry, he knew that Juliette was in danger, and he said nothing. He’s a criminal, from a family of criminals.”
Phelan shrugged. “The loss of Lord Harry is no great disaster,” he said. “As for the other, we’ll have a reckoning. Sooner or later. In the meantime, I’m not going to let the sun rise over me on English soil, ever again.”
“But Juliette …” The words froze in Valerian’s mouth as he looked into Phelan’s face, and he knew there was nothing he could say. He was looking into the face of hell, and the memory would haunt him for the rest of his life.
And then Phelan put his arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Have a happy life, cousin,” he said.
“Brother,” Valerian corrected gruffly.
Phelan pulled back to look at him, and there wasn’t a glimmer of life in his eyes. “Brother,” he agreed.
Valerian wasn’t making any final effort now to talk him out of leaving. He was simply going to watch the ship sail, taking Phelan away from England, back to the places he loved so well. Maybe he’d find some sort of peace there. Valerian could only pray he would.
“Valerian!” A harsh whisper sounded from an alleyway.
He halted, turning to peer into the gathering gloom. He couldn’t see a soul, but once more the voice came, insistent, and he realized with shock that there was only one human being in this part of the world who knew his name.
He dove into the alleyway, colliding with Juliette’s small figure, flinging his arms around her, and hugging her so tightly she almost choked.
“Let go of me, you ox,” she cried. “Where in God’s name have you been?”
He held himself away, looking at her in surprise that finally brought the first trace of humor he’d felt in what seemed like a century. “Good God, Juliette! What have you got on?”
“One of your old dresses,” she snapped in return. “Why do you suppose I’ve been skulking around in alleyways? You didn’t leave a thing behind at Sutter’s Head. I was lucky I found this in the stable, revealing though it is.”
“The Hannigans must have cleared everything out. The Ramseys have disappeared forever. Juliette, we thought you were dead.”
“For heaven’s sake, why? I can swim,” she said crossly.
“Most women can’t.”
“I’m not most women.” She shivered in the cool evening
air. “Where’s Phelan?” A sudden, horrifying thought crossed her mind. “He doesn’t think I drowned, does he?”
“What else could he think? You were gone, there was no trace of you,” Valerian said. “He’s on board a ship sailing for France.”
“Damn him, couldn’t he have waited to bury me?” she fumed. “Has he sailed yet?”
“In the next hour. You’ve got to go to him, Juliette.”
“Like this?”
He stared at her. To be sure, the outfit was indecent on her. On his strapping figure, the dress had an elegant décolleté. On her, the neckline sagged almost to her waist, and she only managed to retain a speck of modesty by clutching the loose folds in her hands. The yellow skirts pooled around her ankles, and if she tried to board the
Sea Horse
in that getup, she wouldn’t even get up the gangplank.
He looked at her, and knew what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth. “No,” said Valerian flatly. “I won’t do it. Never again.”
Juliette just looked at him. “I nearly drowned today,” she said sternly. “I’ve been kidnapped and almost murdered by a crazy old lady, and now I’ve been abandoned by the man who said he loved me right in front of everyone, and you have a few qualms about doing something you’ve done a thousand times before.”
“Hell and damnation,” Valerian said wearily, unbuttoning his shirt. “You’d better name your first child after me.”
Phelan sat alone in the darkness. They were about to weigh anchor, but for the first time in his life he felt no sense of adventure. He wanted the darkness, the numbness, and nothing else.
The cabin was large, but he’d barely noticed it. He sat on the bed, listening to the creak of the timbers, the splash of the sea against the sides of the ship as it moved into the harbor, the snap of the sails overhead, and there was no excitement in his heart. No life at all.
He did have a heart after all. He knew it now, accepted it. Cursed it.
He was starting to feel again. He’d ordered brandy, and the first mate had promised two bottles would arrive at his cabin the moment they left the harbor. Two bottles would be a start.
He heard the quiet rap on his door. He moved his head, looking out the porthole, watching as the lights of the town faded into the distance. “Leave it outside.”
The rap came again, more insistent, and he cursed. He’d locked the door, and he had no intention of opening it and facing anyone for a long, long time.
The sailor had the gall to jiggle the locked handle. Phelan surged off the bed, happy for the chance to hit someone, and he yanked open the door. “I told you—” he began, and then he broke off abruptly.
She was standing there, wearing Valerian’s male clothes. Her hair was stiff and matted from the salt water, and the huge clothes hung on her small body, but she was there, she was real, she was alive.
He didn’t dare move, staring at her in disbelief. “You lied to me,” he said, his voice harsh.
“Any number of times,” she agreed, watching him warily. “Which time were you referring to?”
“The note you left.”
“I didn’t want you to follow me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I loved you. And I thought I’d destroy you.”
“You’re an idiot,” he said.
“So are you,” she said, and her eyes were dark with fury. “I can swim, damn it.”
He hauled her into his arms, slamming the door shut behind them, pushing her up against the wall as his hands cupped her dear, lost face. “Of course you can,” he murmured dazedly. “I should have realized you can do anything.” And he laughed, kissing her wildly, holding her so tightly that she gave a breathless little squeak.
She put her hands up to touch his face, and he knew her fingers were wet with his tears. “Why, Phelan,” she said in wonder, “you’re human after all. You really do love me.”
And he proceeded to demonstrate just how much, as the
Sea Horse
bore them away from this demi-paradise, to a heaven all their own.
This is a work of fiction. References to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Published in Great Britain 2013
Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
© Anne Kristine Stuart Ohlrogge 2013
eISBN: 978-1-472-01528-0